The End is Neigh
by RastaManStan
Summary: It's finally happened. The world is starting to deteriate and Jeff finds himself, along with his friends smack dab in the epicenter. An outbreak of horrific proportion has started to take the city of San Francisco and Jeff along with his group of friends, Marceline, Bonnibel, Finn, Dipper, and Mabel must do whatever it takes to survive.
1. Chapter 1

Jeff looked around the dimly lit room, a distant look in his crimson eyes. He felt the gentle sway of the ocean as he made his way to the center and placed his duffel bag onto the stainless steel table that occupied the space. All around him weapons sat in their respective place on the wall silently mocking him. Accusing him. As he grabbed each tool with familiar ease he couldn't help but feel ashamed. Ashamed at the familiarity of a task he's preformed countless times. The fluorescent bulbs reflected dully off of the matte finish of every weapon and magazine he placed carefully into the cavernous bag. The only solace that he found in it was the fact that this time it was different, Unlike all of the other times he's done this, he wasn't gearing up to carry out the mindless orders of some higher government, or anonymous third party that would no doubt require the senseless bloodshed of men only following orders, making money that they undoubtedly needed to support themselves or, more likely, their families. Men not unlike himself. No. No this time he was doing it for survival.

This all ran through Jeff's thoughts as he mindlessly zipped up the bag and moved to don a matching tac-vest. He continued with his task until, by the time he was finished, he had a backpack with the essentials and a duffel bag filled with weapons and ammo. His large frame sported a fitted plate carrier and padded molle tactical belt. All of which included a thigh holster, various pouches, mag holders, his favored bowie knife, and machete.

Jeff gave one more critical look around his personal armory. Satisfied that he had packed all he had needed, he started to load up his carry weapons with a fluidity that could only come from practiced repetition, depositing his Desert Eagle and corresponding magazines in their rightful holsters. The last thing he grabbed to complete the morbid ensemble was his favorite M14; 2 point sling, extended scope mount, ACOG sight and dual-band attachment, all topped off with custom walnut stock, ergo grip, buttpad, butt wrap, and forward picatinirail system incorporated in to accommodate the AN-PEQ-5 green/IR laser sight, angled fore grip, and standard/IR flashlight. Checking the weapon and sights, Jeff rammed a magazine home and pulled the charging handle back, releasing it with a satisfying clang. _This is it_ , Jeff thought inwardly, _Time to face the apacolypse._

Jeff's combat boots thudded heavily against the floor as he made his way around the table, slipping on the backpack he had prepared and shouldering the duffel bag. Eyes glazing over, rifle in hand, he ascended the several steps out of the belly of his fishing vessel, flipping the light switch, leaving the fluorescent bulbs of his weapons room to flicker off.

The man that had emerged didn't look a day over 22, and for all intents and purposes he was. Nothing really odd about it aside from the fact that he was approaching 30. His sharp, strong jaw and trimmed beard exuded youth, but his eyes spoke wisdom beyond his years. The 7' giant with messy brunette hair and fit body was much more than he seemed. He was altered; no longer human, turned by a vampiric creature that fed on the life essence of those weaker than it. A creature of instinct: the aswang. It certainly explained the increased physical strength and prowess, the red eyes, his fast healing and his eternal youth. This all took place during the last summer before he shipped off to boot to become a drone. He was on a cross country road trip with his girlfriend at the time and her twin brother, their first stop was a sleepy town in the heart of Oregon the twins had visited frequently as children. Two friends he still held dear to him today, friends he needed to find.


	2. Chapter 2

Dipper Pines grunted in exertion as he and Finnigan Mertins braced a dresser against the door as a barrage of bodies threw themselves against it, desperately trying to make their way into Marceline's apartment. Finn might have had a little baby fat, but that didn't take away from the fact that, for his stature, the youth was extremely well built, made evident by his "San Francisco PD" fitted tee. Near by Bonnibel Sugar, a tall, slender scientist with brilliant pink hair, stood idly by with a baseball bat preparing for the worst. All the while Dipper's twin, Mabel Pines sat on the sofa in the humble space rocking back and forth. On top of the dresser sat a police issue mossberg 590 shotgun.

"Why won't they just quit?!" Dipper questioned through gritted teeth, the dresser pressing through his grey hoodie into the skin of slightly undeveloped arms. Sweat trickled down the 25 year old journalist's fuzzy cheek.

"I don't know man," Finn responded, "but have you seen what these things can do?!" He knew full well that they had. When it all began they had been occupying their friends apartment while she was out visiting Jeff on his fishing vessel made home. When they had started to hear the god awful commotion in the street and they had all flocked to the window to view the horrible scene, people running for their lives from what had appeared to be an angry mob at the time. That was nearly 3 hours ago at 10 am. They now knew that it was an entirely different situation. Having grabbed a pair of binoculars, they could see that the horde of people weren't people at all. At least not anymore.

Mabel shot up out of her seat. "Ok, Can we please stop pretending we don't know what we're dealing with here?!" The other three looked at her, taken by surprise at the outburst. "They're zombies, Dipper, you of all people should know that." She holds her arms out in disbelief, brows knit together

"These are different from the ones we dealt with before though," Dipper counters. "Those zombies were more of the magical variety. These ones though..." he trails off. "I don't even know."

Bonni decides to add her professional input as a biochemist, "I don't know either Dipper, but it seems like this is more of an infection than anything else." She looks to the confused expressions around her and decides to continue. "Well from what we've observe, it's a %100 infection rate, and the time between being bitten and total conversion is a constant 8 seconds. In addition to this there are a set list of symptoms, bloodshot eyes, high vascularity in the extremities, and physical discoloration." She she grabs her chin in thought. "Maybe some form of rabies or some bacterial infection, perhaps even fungal." She says it more to herself than anybody in the room.

"Maybe you should put the binoculars down for a bit Bonni," Finn suggests halfheartedly.

Dipper and Finn are jolted backwards by a particularly violent attack.

"Shit" Dipper exclaimed, "Well regardless of what they are, we need to try and get a hold of Jeff and Marceline." He sighs inwardly. They had been trying to get a hold of the two all morning, and every time they had tried to give them a call it went to voice mail. Dipper forlornly looks out the sliding glass door. "I really hope they're ok"

* * *

Halfway across the city Marceline weaved in and out of traffic on her bike. _Jesus this is bad._ All around her people were screaming and being tackled, all the vehicle's in the street had come to a stand still as everything unraveled into chaos. She had made it about half way to her apartment before the city had fallen into disarray all at once. She figured that her best bet was to make her way back to her boyfriend's boat, which is why she found herself in the situation she was in now. fortunately enough for her, the decision wasn't to hard to make, considering the origin, as far as she could tell, was in the direction she had been headed originally.

So now at about 1:30 she found herself in the parking lot for the marina that Jeff's fishing boat sat. _Weird,_ Marceline thought. "No ones here." She didn't dwell on it for too long as she hopped off her bike and started running down the dock. About 500 feet in she decides that her helmet is obscuring too much of her vision and elects to remove the cumbersome head gear. That's when she hears it.

As soon as she's holding the helmet in deceptively slender arms, Marceline's senses are assaulted by what she can only describe as a the most horrifying screams. But it's not the yells of someone in desperate need of help. The shrill sound is hollow and hungry... and right behind her. She swivels around to see about 20 bodies sprinting towards her. _Oh shit._ She quickly produces and dons a pair of brass knuckles, all she was able to grab before her outing the night prior. She had to bring some kind of protection, her father was a drug lord after all. The pounding on the dock is starting to get dangerously close and Marceline is soon forced to run, until she feels a hand grasp at her raven locks. She quickly turns delivering a devastating hook to her assailant's head, causing it to moan in disagreement and stumble backwards, jaw now hanging limply from it's twisted neck.

"What the fuck?!" In an instant, the rest frantically pushed past their stunned comrade, reminding Marceline of a swarm of ants. Soon enough they're on her again and she sprints the rest of the way to her destination only... "Where's Jeff's boat?!" The space where Jeff's boat used to be is empty leaving no evidence that a vessel had ever occupied the water there. _Ohfuckohfuckohfuck._ Marceline does the only thing she can think of and runs to the end of the narrow dock and watches as her pursuers turn the corner, a few continuing on and spilling into the bay. Thinking quickly the 27 year old punk rocker jumps onto one of the boats moored their, an older looking rusty thing. Luckily she finds her self a harpoon to wield, most likely meant to be more decorative than functional. She points it threateningly at the undead regardless as they struggle to climb up the bow, many of them falling into sea. Still about five manage to pull themselves on deck as others struggle to do the same. Marceline glared hate and spite on the advancing infected until they got close enough to strike. And strike she did. She plants the pike into the center of the foreunner of the group before pushing them backwards into each other and off of the side of the boat, all the while the remaining infected continuing their assault on her ears as well as the vessel. Before spilling into the harbor, the head of the group had managed lodge the spear head into it's chest, bringing her only feasible weapon with them. She cursed under her breath as more started to climb over the edge. Gunshots pierce the air as the three that had made it up on deck fall to the steely floor.

Standing with her mouth agape, she looks for the source of the sound to find a rubber dingy floating towards her. In the dingy with rifle shouldered and his eye to the sight is Jeff!


End file.
